My Favorite Mistake
by Kiss And Make Up
Summary: Dean reflects on his relationship with Rory. Bittersweet, short oneshot. Worth your time, I promise! Please RR


**A/N: This is just a short little one-shot I started during the Thanksgiving break. Keep in mind that in this story, I tried to write how _Dean_** **feels. I don't necessarily feel the same way. For instance I like Jess very much. And I certainly don't think Dean is undeserving of Rory. I think they are perfect together.**

**I'm going to update my R/D WIP ("As It Should Be") soon, I promise, I've just got some major writers block to go through. I wrapped up the last chapter so neatly, that I'm still having trouble figuring out where to begin with the next one.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, and I borrowed this title from the Sheryl Crow song "My Favorite Mistake"**

**-o-**

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The first time I saw you, I was intrigued. Your striking blue eyes made me give you a second glance, but it was your intense concentration on the thick novel lying open in your lap that really got my attention. Beauty _and _brains? I had to see for myself whether or not it was too good to be true. After a few days of just watching you and gathering enough nerve to approach you, I finally did it. I walked up to in the hallway of Stars Hollow High and helped you carry your books out. I'll never forget the momentary feeling of fear that gripped me when I thought you might be moving. I didn't even know you yet, and was already terrified of losing you. 

Our first conversation will always stay with me. In addition to truly being pretty and smart, you were shy, witty, cute, and _nice_… and you liked me. And I liked you. And I had never before felt such elation.

I fell for you so hard and so fast. Before we had even been dating for two months, I was so in love with you. I was afraid to tell you so early in the relationship—afraid to scare you away. Deep down though, I always thought that I was just being overly insecure. I didn't really think my fear was justified.

The night of our three month anniversary started out so well. I spent the whole week planning for it, and you seemed to be enjoying it as much as I was. When I showed you the car I had been building you, you made that comment about how everything was so good that it almost made you sad, knowing that things could never be that good again. I took that as my cue, and I said it. I told you how I felt, hoping so hard that you would reciprocate. But you didn't. That hurt so badly—it hurt just to look at you—so I ended it. What else could I do?

I missed you so much after that. I packed up everything I had that reminded me of you and put it in a box to sit in the back of my closet with my old roller blades and a broken baseball bat. I was planning to throw it all away, but I couldn't go through with it. That would make it seem like you never existed, like you didn't mean anything. And that wasn't true. You meant everything.

Being so busy wallowing in my own misery, I never really thought about how _you_ were feeling about everything. I mean, I thought about you all the time, but since you hadn't said you loved me, I assumed you didn't care. When my sister told me that you had come to our house, I immediately thought that she was mistaken. Then, you stood up at the town meeting and gave that little speech about not being able to express how you feel. I thought, and hoped, that maybe you did love me… and I had to find out.

I showed up unexpected at your school, hoping to take you out for coffee to discuss our relationship. When I saw you standing there with _Tristan_, I wanted to die. Or to kill him. You assured me that you weren't with him, that he stole your pencil or something, but I was still jealous and hurting. I was walking away, feeling stupid for driving all the way out there for that, when you yelled after me. And you finally said it, those three words: "I love you." Well, five words really, when you add in the "you idiot." And maybe I was an idiot, because I took you back, and I thought that this time, we could make it.

For a while, things were good again. We were in love and we were happy just to be together. Then _he _came. Jess. He came into the picture, and things were never quite the same. I saw right away that he had a thing for you, and it didn't take me long to realize that you had a thing for him too—but you swore you were just friends. I tried to believe you, because I wanted it to be true. You kept your word and stayed with me, but I could see you weren't really happy anymore.

The summer before senior year, things got worse. You went away to D.C. and I hardly ever heard from you. The few times we spoke, I could hear in your voice that you didn't really miss me all that much. I knew you were too busy missing _him_. But still, I tried to ignore it, because I was selfish and wanted to keep being with you.

Eventually, it became impossible to ignore. At the dance marathon, you would not stop staring at him or talking about him. And finally, I had had enough. So I let you go. I sent you off to be with him, because that was what you wanted and I was tired of seeing you unhappy. You deserved it.

For a while, things were awkward. It hurt so much to see you. As time passed, however, it started to hurt to _not _see you. I really missed you, and I needed you in my life, even if you weren't my girlfriend. You could just be my girl _friend_, right? Once we got started, I was amazed at how easy it was to stay friends with you. Not that I was over you or didn't still want you… because I wasn't, and I did. But I needed to be able to see you, and I was willing to take what I could get.

I was glad to see that you were happy again, but it was really painful to know that it was because of Jess. I liked to delude myself into believing that the reason that upset me so much was because of how much I hated him, but I know now that it was really because of how much I loved you. Actually, I think that my loving you was really the reason for my hating him.

I always tried to contain myself around him, because I knew that he made you happy. I didn't want to be jealous. I didn't want you to think that I was jealous. I wanted you to think I was getting over you. That's why I started going out with Lindsay. I liked her enough: she was pretty, she was nice, and she was fun to be with sometimes… but she wasn't you, so I couldn't fall in love with her.

Then there was Kyle's party, the one where Lane's band played. When I saw you follow Jess into the bedroom, I went crazy. I just stood there, all these images of you two in bed together flashing through my mind. And I _was_ jealous. So jealous. But then, it wasn't long before you came back down the stairs, tears falling down you pretty little face. And he came down behind you. He had caused your tears. I had tolerated him (as well as I could) because he made you happy. Now that he had made you cry, I didn't need to. So I punched him. And we fought. And we tore up Kyle's house. And then the Police came…

Not one of my better moments, I know.

But I did it to protect you. I almost got arrested because I loved you so much. I knew that it wasn't healthy for me to feel so strongly for you when I couldn't have you. I _needed _to get over you, but I didn't know how. So I did something stupid.

I asked Lindsay to marry me.

I know that it wasn't fair of me to do this to her, to make her think I could be there for her, body and soul, and I knew it then too. But I did it anyway. And I'm sorry for that.

What's even worse is that I'm not as sorry about fooling her as I am that it upset you. Or how it made what happened later so troublesome.

Because eventually, I did get you back. My patience with your friendship came through, and you slowly started to fall back in love with me. I should have filed for divorce as soon as I saw the first signs from you, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. And I didn't want to be wrong and ruin a perfectly good marriage over a false hunch.

So instead of getting a divorce, where Lindsay and I could have parted amicably, I'm sure… I cheated. I cheated on my wife, who had done nothing wrong. Her only mistake was giving her heart to someone who had no heart to give in return. I had already given it to you. I cheated. With you.

And because it was with you, it felt right.

And that's _so_ wrong.

Being happy to have you back was one thing, but the almost complete lack of regret I felt towards Lindsay? I always thought I was a better person than that. But when you come into the picture, lines begin to blur. It becomes much more difficult for me to tell right from wrong. Everything becomes shades of gray.

When you went away for the summer, I was so worried that you regretted it. I thought my life was over. But then you came back, and we were together again. And we were so happy, just like before. Except that now, it was even better, because we were having sex. Great sex. And I loved you. And you loved me. And yet I still always felt that I didn't deserve that. I didn't deserve you.

I managed to push those feelings aside, until that night that I came to pick you up from your Grandmother's party. There you were, looking so incredible in that fancy dress, diamonds in you hair and hanging from your ears. And there were those guys. All those rich fancy guys who could give you everything I couldn't and more. And I had never felt more inadequate or less deserving in my life. So I left. I knew that hurt you, but I knew it would be better for you in the long run.

So here I am today, miserable and lonely. I still check up on you from time to time, and I know you're so happy where you are. At Yale. With Logan—the rich boy from the party.

So I was right to give you up. I _had_ to give you up.

Because I never should have had you in the first place.

You were a mistake. You were always a mistake. But of all the mistakes I've made in my life, you were my favorite.

And one I hope to someday make again…


End file.
